Thugs in the Dead of Night
Why'd you come to our house! Flower hunting?!
Just as light casts shadows, importing sugar in bulk naturally led to cavities. Of course, the Crown Prince had prepared countermeasures for that.
Chika-chika-chika.
"Son. You gotta brush thoroughly, okay?"
"Got it."
Even here, toothbrushes and toothpaste existed. A wooden stick bristling with stiff hog bristles, paired with a powdery toothpaste that tasted like mint chocolate.
"Rinse, ptoo! Ptoo! Ptoo!"
Of course, it wasn't up to modern standards. Bristles kept falling out mid-brush, lodging between teeth, and the powder toothpaste couldn't match modern foam or minty freshness.
Still, it seemed effective enough. Thanks to brushing daily, I'd never had a cavity.
"All done? Time for bed then."
"Yeah. Good night."
"Hehe, sleep well, sonny."
I'd been brushing in the courtyard. Bowing toward Mother's room, I headed to my own. In the center lay my bedding, laid out before I stepped out to brush.
I slipped under the covers, closed my eyes, and reflected on the day's market chaos.
Eori's wide-eyed wonder at the honey candy. The tightrope walkers from the traveling troupe. The dalgona successes before the hecklers ruined it. The thugs I'd scrapped with. The skewer I scarfed down. The bastard trying to fleece Mother...
"Ack!"
"!"
My mind snapped awake, realizing I'd dozed off moments ago. And that someone else was in the room besides me.
"What the fuck? Who the hell are you?"
The intruder who'd snuck in while I slept looked like a middle or high school punk. He grumbled in a lowered voice, still cracking from puberty.
Pretending to sleep, I snuck a glance. It was pitch dark at midnight, so no clear face, but moonlight filtered through the papered door behind him, outlining his build.
"Tch!"
Thud! Clatter, roll...
He irritably kicked something on the floor. It bounced like a marble a few times before rolling into the corner.
"Hey. You awake? You are, right? Quit faking and get up, you little shit."
That foul mouth clicked it—the nagging sense of déjà vu. It was the thug from earlier today, the one who'd tried robbing Mother and got an ass-kick from me.
"This fucker's still pretending. Let's see how long you keep it up."
I eyed him sidelong as he plopped down beside me, checking my state. I'd slept rough tonight; the blanket had slipped to my thighs.
"Hey. Hey. Not getting up? Even now?"
Tap! Tap!
He sat by my head, reaching out to prod my cheek. It stung enough that I couldn't fake sleep anymore.
Crack!
"Huh?"
I seized his prodding arm with both hands. While he panicked, I kicked off the blanket, lifted my hips, wedged his arm between my legs, and arched my back like a bowstring.
Crash!
"Aaaagh! My arm! Arm! ARM!"
In an instant, the thug was locked in an armbar, sprawled screaming in my room. I twisted his captive arm every which way, yelling,
"Who the hell are you! Why're you in our house! Flower hunting?!"
"F-Fuck! You little shit! Let go!"
"Came flower hunting in our house, huh?!"
"Hey, hey! What the hell's that noise?!"
That wasn't from the armbarred thug. It came from beyond the wall—another voice like a junior high punk's. Mother's room.
"S-Son! Run!"
Snap!
A breaking sound echoed through the room. Not my sanity snapping—it was the thug's arm, folding backward.
"A-A-A-Aaaagh! Aaagh! Agh! My ARM! AAAAARM!"
His whole body shuddered as his arm bent the wrong way. Kicking him off the bedding, I rose—just as an urgent voice sounded from next door.
"Hey, hey! You check it out!"
"Fuck! Leave some for me!"
Heart pounding amid the chaos, my mind raced. I tensed by the closed door, ready to bolt.
"Hey! Dipshit! You lose to a kid or what?!"
One thug stomped across the veranda to my door. I launched through the sliding gap.
"What the—?!"
Like a wild boar, I lowered my shoulder into his hip, grabbed behind his knees with both hands, and yanked.
"Wha-wha-whoa?!"
He backpedaled for balance, but with both calves hooked, he toppled straight into the courtyard.
Slam!
"Guhk! Hack! Guhk!"
Head and back smacking the dirt, he coughed out groans. Confirming he was gasping in pain, I stood.
"Fire! FIRE! FIIIIRE!"
Screaming it to draw someone out. Throat burning, I bolted to Mother's room.
"Son! Run! Get help—quick!"
Her voice rang from the wide-open door. I was known as a dutiful son, but not tonight.
"Mom! Mom! MOM!"
"Hey, hey! Hadong's down!"
"That's not my mom, asshole!"
I'd called for Mother, but a thug appeared through the door. Assuming she was inside, I charged in.
"Fuck! Thought it was just you and your mom?!"
Not suspecting me, he thrust out his right arm—probably to grab my collar or shove me out. Worst move against a pissed-off judoka.
Grip!
Left hand snagged his sleeve, grip! right yanked his collar.
"Wha—hu?!"
Like the first, he froze in shock. Seizing the moment, I twisted, hoisted him onto my back, then dropped low before his weight crushed me.
A fireman's carry into a drop.
"Uwaak?!"
Thud!
He flew over the threshold, skull cracking the veranda edge before hitting the dirt.
"Wha-wha! Hey! Sunmo!"
"F-Fuck! What the hell are you?!"
"Son?"
Feeling heavier than when I left my room, I rose. Now I could survey Mother's room.
Two thugs left—one with his arm around Mother's neck like a hostage.
"Let my mom go, you fuckers!"
"Son! No!"
Ignoring her again, I rushed the free one, grabbing sleeve and collar.
"Ow, fuck! Let go! LET GO!"
Smack! Smack!
Desperate not to join his buddies, he punched my face repeatedly, backpedaling to shift his balance back. Setting up for an ankle reap.
"You fucking—!"
Left yanked the sleeve hard; right released the collar and drove my shoulder in. Slid my leg between his, hooked one foot like a fishing gaff, and reaped.
"Wha-wha-wha! Guh?!"
Boom!
One leg hooked, he couldn't retreat—crashed backward. The double thud shook the house.
"Hah! Hah! Hah!"
One left. Just one more...
"You little shit!"
Forgot even cornered rats bite. The last one swung something while I rose.
Scraaape!
"Ack?!"
"Kyaaaagh!!!"
Something hard and thin sliced my left forehead. Skin splitting, skull scraping—chills raced up my spine. Mother's agonized scream shook me worse than my own pain.
Chatter-chatter...
My jaw trembled like a woodpecker on bark. Rallying my wits, I glared at the final thug.
"Y-You, you fucking shit! What the hell are you! What, what're you?!"
He'd released Mother, brandishing what looked like a knife, voice quaking in terror.
"Hah... whoo...!"
I exhaled to steady shaking body and mind. Fear didn't vanish, but the sight ahead fueled me.
Behind that knife-wielding bastard stood the woman who birthed me. My mother. The one who piled meat on my plate, smiled once daily no matter what, swung the switch without hesitation if I crossed the line. My mother.
"Get away from my mother, you FUUUCK!"
"Sh-Shit!"
I tilted my head to dodge the slash, then seized sleeve and collar like the rest.
No stamina for a carry—hooked my right foot behind his and reaped him down with an outer reap.
Wham!
"Aaagh! Agh! Aaaaagh!"
Brutes relying on brawn knew no breakfalls. On hard cement, no less. He clutched his smacked shoulder, wailing like a baby.
That's when I felt it. My body was done. Breath hitched, vision blurred. Nausea surged; limbs went limp.
Squeezing the last dregs, I gasped to Mother,
"M-Mom. Get out—quick. Hah! Hah! Hah!"
Modern judo training or not, this was a ten-year-old's body. Stepping toward her, I faceplanted and puked.
"Urp—bleeeech!"
"S-S-Son! Son!"
"Mom. Urk! Hack!"
Should've died on that knife. Breath ragged, guts heaving till stomach acid choked me. Blood, sweat, tears blurred everything.
"M-Mom. Mom, get out. Qu-quick—cough!"
"Okay, son. Mom's here. It's okay. Mom's right here."
"Hah—cough! Stay here and—urk!—you'll—hack!"
The thugs were down for now, but who knew when they'd lunge. With my stamina in the red, I was wide open.
"Ma'am! You alright?! Young master!"
Finally. My Chaekho folks. As Mother supported me, the villagers arrived. Even gasping on death's door, I managed a faint smile.